


Conditional

by GoldenDaydreams



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Dancing, Forgiveness, M/M, Short & Sweet, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:08:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25332919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenDaydreams/pseuds/GoldenDaydreams
Summary: Jaskier forgave Geralt forthe mountain, however, that forgiveness came with two conditions.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 6
Kudos: 182





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The field made a decent place to make camp. An overturned tree with it’s roots lifted from the ground webbed with dirt made a wall that blocked out the worst of the cool wind. Winter nipped on the heels of autumn. Soon they would part ways, Geralt would escort Jaskier safely to Oxenfurt before making the push to Kaer Morhen where he would reunite with his brothers, with Yennifer, and Ciri. He looked forward to it, and dreaded it all at once. 

He remembered the tavern he’d found Jaskier in after his outburst on the mountain, and the way the bard had been drinking his sorrows away after an abysmal set. More than anything, he recalled the sharp scent of a storm lingering on Jaskier. For a heartbreaking second blue eyes lingering on Geralt, sad and dejected, before they stared into his ale.

While apologies didn’t come naturally to Geralt, he had forced the words out, admitted his wrongs. The words he’d spoken on the mountain were not just unfair, but cruel and untrue. Jaskier had remained both still and quiet for a long time. It had been unnerving to see the bard usually so full of life, of movement of sound, be still. He remembered the wait, listening to the beats of Jaskier’s heart. 

“I have two conditions to accepting your apology,” Jaskier had said in that backwater tavern. 

“Name them.”

“Don’t do that again, don’t turn your anger on me. That isn’t to say that you can’t be cross with me, but talk to me like an adult. If I’m that bothersome—”

“You’re not bothersome, but you’re right, I turned my anger on you, and that wasn’t fair.” 

Jaskier had nodded. 

“And the second condition?”

“Prove it.”

Geralt raised a brow. 

“Prove you’re sorry, prove you care. Actions are easier for you than words, use your actions.” 

And Jaskier had made that easy in the months that followed. He had asked for little things that Geralt could provide should he chose to. Anything from Jaskier mentioning he was cold so Geralt could offer a cloak, to asking for help rhyming; even if Geralt’s rhymes weren’t any good, it was worth watching Jaskier light up every time he tried. 

It was condition number two that led Geralt into this situation. A hand clasped in Jaskier’s, the other on his hip, their bodies a half foot apart as Jaskier hummed a tune. Failing to step back in time, Jaskier’s body pressed even closer. “Right foot back, now left,” Jaskier murmured as Geralt followed the orders. “Lovely, see, I told you that you could learn this dance.” 

Learning to dance wasn’t what he’d signed up for. Jaskier had been lamenting that he did not have a date for the Harvest Festival in Oxenfurt, an event that Geralt had thought was just listening to other bards, maybe watching a play, he could sit through such things for Jaskier, and offered to be his date. 

He certainly hadn’t known about the dancing. 

He stepped on Jaskier’s toes, hard enough that Jaskier’s hand in his, and on his shoulder both tightened, every muscle tensing as he stood a little straighter, eyes wide, a sharp exhale. Geralt quickly stepped back. “Fuck. Sorry.” 

“It’s alright.” Jaskier glanced down at the soft leather of his boots, scuffed from the heavy treaded soles of Geralt’s. “Let’s try again.” 

Geralt grimaced but let Jaskier guide his hand around to the small of his back, and then playfully lower. Geralt fought off a grin. “Jask—”

“Let’s try a different dance, I’m sure this one—” he pressed his body up against Geralt’s, “—is one you’ll _nail_ in no time.” Jaskier did something filthy with his hips that had Geralt’s hand fisting in the bard’s doublet. “Say what you want about Novigrad but the fact that they’re known for a dance that is basically sex with clothes on, hmm, it’s something I can get behind.”

He must have been too tense, for Jaskier’s hands lifted from his body, hovered a moment before falling to his sides. “Use your words,” Jaskier requested softly. 

Geralt struggled for a moment, to find the right words, the ones that expressed what he meant without hurting Jaskier. He was grateful that Jaskier didn’t rush him, just waited. “I don’t want to dance. In front of people. This… this is fine, but at the festival I would rather not.” 

“Okay.” 

“Okay?”

“I have no desire to force you into something you’re uncomfortable with,” Jaskier replied as though it should have been obvious. 

“But you wanted me to show I care.”

“Ah, I thought that might be what this is about.” Jaskier rested his forearms on Geralt’s shoulders, and he could feel the bard’s clever fingers twirling in his hair. “You have shown me. You’ve danced with me nearly every night at my request. If you’re not comfortable dancing in front of anyone, that’s okay. It can just be for us.” Jaskier smiled. “Hmm, I think I like that.” 

“Is that so?” Geralt’s hands found Jaskier’s hips, pulling him closer as they slid lower. “Maybe you should show me that dance from Novigrad.”

Jaskier’s smile was positively wicked. “With pleasure, my dear.”


End file.
